


The Real Gunmetal Blues

by K_Lionheart



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Darker Than Black au, F/M, Hoe don't do it, Multi, Oh My God, cop and robber idea, slight Hunk/Shay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9604307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Lionheart/pseuds/K_Lionheart
Summary: In this world of crime and Contractors, justice likes to swing into dark corners and whatever space it can get into. For Allura Altea, being made Senior Detective was supposed to be a simple matter of black and white. Until she was assigned the case of the Red Reaper. Now it's only a matter of making clear distinctions in a world cast in gunmetal blues. Easier said than done, right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *groaning "hoe don't do it" the entire time I was writing this*

The napkin in her suit's pocket feels like coiled ropes after the twentieth time she squeezes them between her fingers. Allura knows better than to let her nerves get the best of her, but it's almost impossible at this point. Years of training couldn't have prepared her for the actual moment she stood in front of her father's--correction,  _Chief_ Alfor's--office, and now all she could do was wait and fight the urge to pace a trench (or in this case a moat, judging by how unusually sweaty her palms felt) in front of the metal and double-bullet proof door.

The Police station, unlike many of its counterparts in lower Roppongi, is clean and marginally brighter. Broadleaf plants hug corners to invite sparks of life and clarity for the usually grim shadows police life offered. Despite the bright lights and clean linoleum, the faint stench of grime and filth weep from the walls in steady, if bearable, waves. Shining rewards were only for the peaceful living. When you choose a life cleaning up streets, you're bound to get dirty.

Allura tugs her hands from her pockets and glares at the blots of napkin sticking to her skin. A choice glance to the metal-grate-protected police clock over the other side of the hallway tells her a meager three minutes have passed. A watched clock never moves... Exasperation manifests into a grunting sigh that tickles her throat and Allura wipes her palms on her pantsuit and wills herself to calm.  _I need a coffee._

If wishes were genies... Sure enough, a waft of convenience store coffee strikes past the murky station smells and into her nose. Allura perks up and glances to her right just as a tall and broad man (with the dimensions of a prize brand tortilla chip) strides around the corner. Her eyes sweep over his figure with instinctual awareness for critical details. A long stripe of a scar lays over the bridge of his nose and teased his cheeks. Such a brand would normally be called a deformity, yet on this man's face (whose eyes were cast down in aggressive focus on the screen of a smartphone in his opposite hand) it is a simple added feature that does nothing to mar his proportions.

And what proportions indeed--if one could look past the poorly tailored suit that is far too big to really garner enough attention let alone a traveling eye easy passage.

He must sense her gaze on him because no sooner does he take a few steps he glances up and meets her eyes. Allura's stomach jumps just as he does a quick double-take of surprise.

"Oh," he speaks and it is pleasantly deep. "Good morning."

"Good morning," she parrots back and gives him a courteous nod. That should have put death to further conversation, but he makes no motion to look away and neither does she. The atmosphere spins and almost teeters over the edge of awkward. Allura clears her throat and proceeds. "I suppose you are also here for an interview?"

"Uh, yeah," he replies and there is nothing about him that lets off any hint of aggression or alarm. He's easygoing and his smile is sheepish. Allura finds him amicable enough. Cute, even. Alright, he's gorgeous, but he doesn't need to know that. "I'm being transferred in."

"Oh? From where?"

"Northern Tokyo," he replies again and the atmosphere is saved. Allura straightens.

"Tough place," she says.

"It's no different than most places," he says and pockets his smartphone in his suit pants. "You?"

"Not exactly," Allura shifts her weight on her heels, wedge heels squeezing her toes faintly. "I'm being promoted."

Friendly's eyebrows rise and it's then she realizes the way his hair is cropped, shaven from his nape to the edge of his temples, the rest looks like it's fought his comb from being styled backward. The dark hair grazes his forehead and gives him an almost boyish look. Blast it all. 

"Congratulations," he says and extends a hand, only to pause and realize it's the same hand holding onto his sub-par cup of coffee. Allura smiles at his flustered retreat and he offers his other hand instead. She takes it and is glad she wiped her palms earlier because his hands are warm and gently calloused. "I'm Shirogane Takashi."

"Altea Allura," she responds in the typical order of last name, first. Shirogane Takashi nods and she can see the cogs spin in his mind as he registers the curious pronunciation of her name.

"Where are you from?"

"Okinawa, if you believe it," Allura says through a breathy laugh. "How well is your English?"

"Phenomenal," and when he does speak in English it's like listening to a new favorite song. Allura fights off the urge to tug a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Only now she wishes she had done the up-do instead of a simple low ponytail. At least her bangs are framing her face how she likes. He has no visible accent aside from an obvious American one and that alone is her only complaint. "How well is yours?"

"As well as it should be," and his eyebrows lift when her tongue fails to resist the similar cadence of a British trill. "I was mostly raised in southern England."

It doesn't occur to them that they are still shaking hands and it hits Allura how this situation is dangerously close to falling into a "meet-cute" category. She retracts her hand just as he does, to her relief.

"America," Shirogane Takashi says and saves the atmosphere once more. "California. Not as fancy but we get more sun."

Allura can't help the burst of a laugh then and it's impossible to continue denying the attraction any further. Still, she finds her feet before they run off into uncharted territories any more than her teenage self could and she assumes a more professional position. Only two minutes into banter and she already has a crush. Her father will be thrilled. Her mind snags a bit of their earlier conversation and brings to light a new question.

"Tokyo, was it?" she sees the hesitant wall of wariness stiffen his shoulders before he nods. "I'm...sorry to hear that."

He blinks, surprised. "What makes you say that?"

"You mention you transferred here," like a trigger being pulled, Allura finds herself falling into the distinct inertia of a mystery being solved. Her mind connects dots at a speed far too fast for anyone else to follow, yet years of training herself to demonstrate its genius kept her from losing track. "Judging by how early you are you requested the transfer. There's only one reason anyone would transfer out of Tokyo...especially now of all times."

The sunny disposition gives to a cloud and she can see it. His eyes darken with an emotion she's all too familiar with. His lips pull into a wry smile, and his eyes look distant, cold.

"I can see why you're getting promoted," he says and takes a sip from his coffee. "Very fast, detective."

It's Allura's turn to be surprised, but she doesn't need to voice it. Her face must've said it all because there's a sharp gleam in his eyes that reveals he isn't all too shabby at uncovering mysteries either, even if they are rather simple.

The door to the Chief's office clicks and swings open with a tight squeak. A tall man, broader than even Shirogane Takashi, appears behind the door, eyes narrowed in a callous expression and when he glances at Allura he only nods.

"Detective," he greets.

"Antok," Allura replies, and it's an impressive switch from an easy going stance to a stance sharp enough to mimic military stature. Antok gives Allura a single once over before glancing over to the man at her right.

"You must be Detective Shirogane," Antok says, "I spoke with your supervisor from Tokyo. Ulaz was...talkative."

"Sir," Shirogane gives a respectful bow of greeting, one Antok acknowledges with another stiff nod.

"You two are right on time," Antok says and steps to the side. "Pleasantries aside, the Chief is ready for you."

Allura blinks once before exchanging a glance with Shirogane. "Both of us?"

Antok turns and walks inside without another word. Allura hurries after, followed closely by Shirogane as they enter the wide Chief of Police's main office. There is nothing new about the room, as Allura has been within its confines more than she has been in her own apartment. The smell inside the office is marginally more pleasant than the rest of the building's and yet there is a faint odor that tells her he was running out of sandalwood spray. Antok's broad body almost makes the office small and she steps around him to face the large black desk in its center.

Her father, Chief Alfor, is staring down at a file, lips spread thin as his eyes gather intel from the documents with speed and year-long precision. He closes the file a moment later and straightens in chair, looking intimidating despite the fact he was still sitting and Antok was still a prominent presence in the room.

"Good morning," he says and meets Allura's gaze with a warm look before he addresses the other two men. "I trust your day has been going well?"

Antok gave a grunt and Shiro nodded.

"Good," Alfor places his hands on his desk and focuses his attention on the newer addition. "Detective Shirogane, welcome to Roppongi. We've heard shining things about you. Tokyo isn't a kind place, being so close to the Gate. You have quite a reputation. I spoke with your superintendent, I offer my condolences."

"Sir," Shirogane's voice was carefully neutral. Allura tucked her arms behind her back at a more at-ease stance, all to hide how her fingers wanted to fidget. So, she was right.

"However, I am glad an officer of your caliber has made your way here," Alfor pushed off from his desk and faced them head-on. "We have a particular case I want you both in on, of which, you may already be aware of."

Alfor reached down toward the file on his desk and turned it around before slapping it on the front of the desk. Allura leaned in, eyes catching the singular stamp of  _CLASSIFIED_ and a case number. Alfor sent Antok a look and the broad man took a few steps back to man the door. With a series of glances, Alfor beckoned the other two forward. Allura stepped closer and waited as the Chief flipped the file open. The case file had several pictures, black and white blurred stills that showed the image of a shadowed figure and a white mask.

Allura's heart give a strange squeeze then. The mask was rounded, as though it were made of porcelain with no prominent features save painted slits for eyes and a disturbing line that angles sharply to look like a smirking mouth. She is far too focused on the pictures and details in the documents to notice Shirogane's hand squeeze his cup hard enough to distort the styrofoam.

"This is Contractor CK465, also known as the Red Reaper," Alfor explains. "We have received intelligence that he has moved back from Osaka to the Tokyo area, only this time activity has been spotted closer to this district than anywhere else. Already we're seeing a sharp increase in criminal activity in various areas here. Several murders have been linked to his usual MO and we already have a task force assembling for this particular case."

"Chief," Allura intervenes for a moment. "This is the first I've heard of this Red Reaper, how has he been so underground if his work is this extensive?"

"The Red Reaper isn't like other contractors," Shirogane replies. Allura glances at him with a start, and her eyes widen to see the frigid expression over his face. Dark enough that it made Allura's blood run chill. "He has been known to hide his work beneath other Contractors' activity. You'd only be able to know more if you know where to look."

"Precisely," Chief Alfor says. "He has several other codenames in other districts, and at times his work goes unnoticed under other Contractor behavior. However, inftel from the Observatory has consistently found that his star activates when other stars do so as well. He's elusive and clever, however, we've done a great job taking down clever Contractors before."

"Sir, if I may," Shirogane takes a step forward. "The Red Reaper is more than clever. He is meticulous, far more so than most Contractors out there."

"What experience you have dealt with the Reaper is greatly noted, Detective," Alfor meets Shirogane's gaze evenly. "However, your understanding of this part of the city is standard at best. In order to find more information, we need more than previous experience. We require instinct and intuition of the city's streets, which is why you, Detective Allura, will be the head of this case."

"Sir?" Shirogane's voice is surprised and it is then they meet each other's gaze.

"Detective Allura is the best of our precinct," Alfor explains. "She knows this city better than most experienced cops here. I trust her judgment better than most."

"No offense," Shirogane quips with a tone that makes Allura bristle. "But, no one here knows the Reaper better than I do. I apologize, sir, but I didn't come here to be placed on the passenger seat of this case."

"And yet," Allura's gaze is a sharp knife pointed in Shirogane's direction, "This man is still at large, is he not?" Shirogane's jaw tightens shut. he says nothing at that. Allura tilts her chin, appraising him in a newer light.

Alfor's expression is calm, collected. Yet Allura sees the gleam of sharp tact working beneath her father's gaze, one she has only seen when he has discovered a secret few are privy to. "You have been transferred here on your own volition, Detective. You must have been aware of this activity and how the Reaper would make his move here. Clearly, you know him well enough, however, I do not, in good conscience, trust you with this case any more than I deem necessary. Do not misunderstand, you were not allowed here to take the lead. You are here as a consult. Nothing more."

A fierce tension blooms in the room as Allura takes in the crinkling cup in Shirogane's hand. His eyes are steel and stone, staring with such intensity at the Chief that Allura felt something in her desire to step between them. However, just as quickly as it came, bruising the air with its abrupt arrival, it had gone, leaving a sting in the air that could only be attributed to a blow to Shirogane's pride. The cup in his hand resumes its shape as he relaxes his hold and he gives them both a nod.

"Very well," Shirogane says. "I understand."

"Good," Alfor gives him a nod. "I suggest the two of you get working on getting to know each other. Senior Detective Allura, I expect you to show your new Junior how we work here in Roppongi. Dismissed."

Bodies straightening, the duo exclaim a strong, "Yes, sir!"

What follows can only be a singular glance that Allura just knows has done enough to redefine their earlier conversation as a thing of the past. This certainly was not at all what she had expected from her first case as a Senior Detective, and little did she know that there would not be the end of the twists and turns this case would throw her life into. 

* * *

The scent of greasy food and the promise of an evening stuffed with carbs is the only thing keeping Allura's head from exploding into a full on migraine. The day went... not entirely as expected. It is difficult to consider the cute new guy as more than just a co-worker. He is now her subordinate so flirting and giggling was right out. She had expected a rocky start, ready for a moment when he would undermine her with a glance or with a sly phrase beneath his breath. Instead, Shirogane Takashi had been nothing more but the picture of an ideal junior detective. With their task force needing further assembling, the rest of the day had gone with Allura familiarizing herself with the case and the pictures of the Contractor the city knew as the Red Reaper.

There was, however, the undeniable tension that boiled between the shoulders of her junior. All great manners aside, he was polite and respectful, but there was a clear dissatisfaction that egged Allura into preparing for a moment when Shirogane would snap and sigh, or grunt something and destroy the delicate bridge they found themselves upon. Yet, the moment never came and later that evening, when they bid their farewells in a cooly, if pleasant, way, Allura leaves the station with a scowl on her face. By the time she makes it to her standard issue class vehicle, a new wave of fresh knots squeeze at the base of her neck and upper back. The tension will not leave easily and she has an evening to spend eating greasy fries and pumping her arms over a treadmill back at her apartment to unleash it.

Mindy's, thankfully, was on the way back home and Allura lets out a slow sigh as she flicks her blinker and makes the turn into the fast food joint. Any other day she would've pulled right into the drive-thru and made her order then, but today's new round of tension has left her feeling wired enough to loathe being stuck in her car longer than necessary. 

The air was cool for the late May evening and Allura pauses only to readjust her ponytail and take a glance into her dashboard mirror. The view was unsatisfactory, strands of her hair stick out in odd ways from hours of being tugged by her fingers over and over. She glares flatly at the mirror and pulls the hair tie from her silver hair, allowing herself this moment of rare respite. Outside her car, Allura's hair sways just below her hips at the cool sigh of the evening breeze.

This feels much better already.

She walks into the restaurant, swinging the door with almost too much force and ready to drown her frustrations in a tall order of meat and cheese. Her eyes settle on the ground ahead of her, too preoccupied with details of the case and the latest deal with her new partner when a sudden force slams into her and Allura is nearly thrown off her feet.

"Shit!" she hears in English and the sound of ice and liquid hits her ears the moment she feels a waterfall of icy deluge rush down her front. Allura gives a tight shriek of shock, jumping back and almost slips. A hand catches her by the wrist and yanks her back, steadying her. Already her eyes narrow, preparing to stab into the eyes of the idiot who wasn't paying attention to where they were going. Instead, she is met face-to-face with gunmetal blue eyes and a similarly surprised expression.

"Ah,  _fuck_ ," the curse is uttered just as it passes through her mind, only it comes out her assailant's lips rather than her own. "I'm really sorry, shit." 

Allura pauses as the man in front of her alternates between swearing in English and Japanese with comical ease. He isn't very tall, probably an inch or two taller than her, but he features are sharp and his hair is styled in the kind of longer style that was rather fashionable and edge among younger people in Japan. He is dressed simply, nothing more than a black tee and cargo pants, a red jacket crossing at the arms over his hips and even a pair of black fingerless gloves.

"It's fine," she says in English and judging by his expression, he's somewhat relieved she is. "It is, really."

"You've got coke all over your suit and you think it's fine?" He arches a brow at her. Allura glances down at herself and spots the grown dark stain now spreading icy black fingers over her dark violet pantsuit. She sighs, wilting with disgust.

"It was an accident," she says and she's too tired to feel any more anger than is justly deserved. "Accidents happen. I wasn't paying attention either, so I suppose I was due for just desserts."

"You're not from around here, are you?" her assailant says and he's got a wry smirk on. Allura raises a brow.

"Do you  _want_ me to start screaming at you?" she huffs and to her surprise, his smirk broadens. He has the decency to look bashful at that point.

"My bad," he says. He doesn't have much of an accent, just the slightest touch of Japanese that grazes his consonants in a charming sort of way. "Can I make it up to you?"

"It's not that big of a deal," Allura shakes her head, lifting her finger toward the soda-sticky buttons of her suit jacket. "I have a spare set of clothes in the back of my trunk. I'll just change into those."

"Well, let me get you your order," he says with a shrug. "Least I could do and then we'll be out of each other's hair."

Allura finds the comment amusing if a bit odd. "You'd do something nice for someone just to get out of their hair?"

"I don't like leaving debts unpaid," he says and points to the mess on the ground between them. "Plus, I also lost my food in the process of nearly killing you just now. Two birds."

The sarcasm and hyperbole is fresh to her ears and Allura lets out a snort despite herself. She supposed it made sense, better to make amends than to pay the piper. She needs no further coaxing and gives him a nod.

"Very well, I'll just get changed in the bathroom. But I'm still buying my own food."

"No promises," he replies and after a moment he sort of shifts and tugs his hands in his pockets. "I'm Keith, by the way."

"Keith?" she cocks her chin curiously. She would give him a deeper look of critical appraisal if not for the exhausted looking service worker approaching them with a mop and a bucket of murky soap water. Keith steps out the door after her to give the poor kid space to work and mutter to himself bitterly.

"Yeah," Keith says and tugs out a handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to her. "You've got coke on your chin."

Allura blinks in surprise and takes the handkerchief, rubbing it over the sticky cool spots of soda on her jaw and neck. "Thanks. I'm Allura."

"I'd say this was a pleasure but there's a good chance we might've killed each other if circumstances were different." Allura purses her lips to stifle a laugh and sighs.

"You're lucky I'm exhausted," she says and makes to pass him his handkerchief. "Otherwise I might've actually done just that."

"Seems we share a boat," Keith shakes his head, making a jerky movement with his chin that's boyish. "Keep it. Goes to pay the debt."

"Enchanting," Allura hums but pockets the handkerchief anyway. "I'm going to grab those spare clothes."

"What do you want to eat?" He asks as she begins to step away. Allura doesn't linger, already turning to walk back toward her car.

"Number three combo with animal style fries," she says over her shoulder.

"Three heart attacks and an artery clogger," he shoots back. "Got it."

Allura tosses a glance at him as she continues walking, sees him make a swift turn on his heels and heads back into the restaurant. This is twice she's had a meeting with an attractive man and a potential "meet-cute" set up. That's two in a row. In the same day. Either Karma was finally coming around or it was about time she gave her mother a certain call. Years of managing a strict career in law enforcement didn't exactly arrange the chips to fall in the romantic department in her life. Sure, she's had a few sparking romances in her years as a teenager and young adult, but when your boyfriend of five years suddenly exhibits amoral behavior years after the arrival of the Gates, it makes it difficult to find romance anew.

Allura reaches toward her car's trunk and waves her wristwatch in front of the lock. In a moment, she hears a click and the trunk pops open. She finds the spare clothing in a box to the right, away from other organized things she keeps for any present moment. She even has a bag of toiletries for when a day at work becomes an overnight stay though she doubts they had a shower here at Mindy's. 

She pauses for a moment after she retrieves the clean clothes, looking up at the vast canopy that was the deep mauve sky. Stars above twinkle overhead, mimicking the sight of an older sky where stars were actual heavenly figures rather than correlated shapes attached to the lives of the people the world now associates as Contractors. A moment passes and suddenly a star shoots across the heavens, leaving a streak that becomes swallowed by black and nothingness.

Allura's eyes widen and she pulls out her phone, dialing quickly and waiting only a couple of moments before the line clicks.

" _Observatory, this is Shay."_

"Shay, it's me," Allura says as her eyes trail the sky for further signs of astral activity. "I just saw a star fall, can you tell me what star it was and any other active stars?"

" _Sure thing, Detective. Just a moment."_ Allura's eyes find nothing else, save the twinkling and an ominous feeling in her stomach working.  _"Positive on a fallen star. It was star number FB142, a man named Hewett Takameda also known as Varkon. there are two other stars currently active, number HT823 and FA129."_

"Could you run a correlation with of that death with star number CK465? Is that star active or has it been active within the past six hours?"

 _"Certainly, just a moment."_ Allura glances away from the sky to tug her clean clothes into a plastic bag she keeps in a compartment to the opposite side. Shay's voice appears just as she's shutting the trunk and heading toward the restaurant.  _"Negative on activity. No behavioral patterns spotted either. Star CK465 has been dormant for two weeks."_

Allura frowns but the sinking feeling in her stomach fades away. She lets out a sigh as she finally reaches the main doors. "Alright, thank you, Shay. Please keep me on tabs with that star's activity."

_"Yes, detective. Have a good evening."_

She presses the END CALL button just as she strides inside Mindy's main doors, dodging the slick floor and the caution: wet sign. Up ahead, she spots Keith, standing by the food pickup area and staring down at the screen of his smartphone. He hasn't noticed her walking in and she heads straight in the direction of the bathrooms. Four minutes later of changing out of her uncomfortably damp clothes, wiping off as much coke product from her skin as she could, and sliding into a pair of clean, black suit pants and a pink button up blouse, Allura is ready to head back out the door. She pauses at the mirror, glancing down at her appearance and messing with her hair a bit before pinching her lips and walking outside. There was no use doing much else, she doesn't waste much time with make-up aside from eyeliner and lip color.

Back outside and into the main area, Allura finds Keith holding on to a tray of food in various paper bags. He glances from his phone just as she approaches. Her wedge heels clack against the tile certainly. His eyes follow her new appearance and she isn't sure how to handle the little nod he gives before meeting her gaze.

"Didn't know if you wanted it to go, so I just winged it," he says without much preamble. Allura frowns and gives him a look.

"I told you I was going to buy my own food."

"You were taking hours," he says and began to walk toward a booth. Allura follows with a sigh but says nothing else. "Besides, it'll make me feel better knowing we could part ways after this. Debt repaid all that."

"You really care about debts, don't you," she asks and she catches how his jaw gives a little twitch a that. He shrugs and places the tray on a booth and slides right in. Allura notes his abrupt silence and sits down after him, reaching for her bag of food. It's then that she realizes there were far too many bags than what she told him to order.

"I didn't order these," she says, glancing curiously at some of them.

"Those are mine," Keith replies slides the tray to the side, focusing on one bag and pulling out food to place on the table. Allura blinks in surprise as he begins to dig in but says nothing as she follows. The lack of conversation between them begins to stray into the awkward silence and without much else on what to talk about Allura finds herself unable to save the atmosphere. Keith doesn't seem particularly bothered by the silence, unwrapping chicken sandwiches and plucking chicken tenders from greasy paper bags and eating in silence.

What happened to the snarky banter of earlier? Allura isn't sure how to answer that question, only that she takes bites of her burger and fries with a little less enthusiasm. The exhaustion begins to hit and as she considers the possibility she was going to probably just head to bed when she got home made her less hungry. Burgers and fries were great but only prior to an intense workout. Without the carb-killing routine to follow she might as well sign up for a growing pants size.

"What's the matter, is your food okay?"

Allura glances up from her half-eaten burger to meet Keith's expression, curious and just a little cool in how he studied her. "It's fine," she says. "I'm just... it's been a long day. Perhaps, it wasn't such a great idea to eat so late."

"Tell me about it," he says. Allura reels, tilting her chin in confusion and watches as he digs through another bag and pulls out another chicken sandwich. "Your day, tell me about it."

"Do you have a black hole for a stomach? How many sandwiches have you had?" she says through an incredulous snort.

"This is my fifth and you're deflecting. Go on, let loose."

Allura fights back the urge to gape and lowers her burger to reach for a couple of fries. She doesn't really know him... should she? Inwardly shrugging, Allura leans on her elbows and picks at a fry.

"It's... well, this may come as a shock to you, but I'm a cop." Keith doesn't slow or even appear moderately surprised, he just takes another bite of his sandwich and sucks a bit of sauce from his thumb into his mouth. The action was not awful to see... if anything he might as well have been a model posing in one of those Mindy's commercials. Allura feels a churn of envy at his apparent lack of self-control and the clear cut curves of his body beneath his shirt. No doubt blessed with a speedy metabolism.

"You're right, I am shocked," Keith says through a mouthful of food and swallows. Allura glares pointedly at him, to which he responds with a cheeky smirk.

"I was recently assigned a new case and my partner..." she trails off, uncertain how to feel about engaging in anything even remotely gossipy about her newest partner. Shirogane doesn't exactly seem like the sort of person who deserves being talked about behind his back. Allura leans back and sighs. "It's just...complicated, I suppose. That's all. Life of a cop, all pain and no glory."

"Sounds exciting," Keith hums and pauses from his meal. "Is it everything you ever wished it would be?"

Allura frowns, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, it means what it means," he says with a careless shrug. "You obviously prepared years for this, you don't seem like you hate your job. It's just another day in the life of crime-fighting. Is it everything you wished it would be?"

Allura can't help but narrow her gaze on his and there's an odd sort of flatness in his gaze that pushes her to reach across the table and pull at his hair. "What about you? Have you found your own dream job?"

"My life doesn't really matter here. You're deflecting."

Allura sputters and straightens in her seat. "Your life doesn't--you don't seem to offer much in return to the question you're asking."

"How badly do you want to know?" Keith retorts and when he moves, he leans his elbows on the table and locks his fingers together beneath his chin. "If you're curious, shoot me a question."

"Alright, fine," Allura crosses her arms on the table and meets his stare with her own. "You're obviously fluent in English and Japanese. You know the city well enough. How long have you been here in Japan?"

"Four years," he replies easily. "I was born here and raised in Texas. Tried the whole college route, not my thing."

"So, what," Allura clicks her tongue, "You're just meandering in Roppongi?"

"I have a few odd jobs, but who doesn't when they're my age?" Keith shrugs and he smiles at her suddenly. "So, back to my question."

Allura finds herself feeling annoyed, but she sighs and decides to bite. "No, it isn't. It's far from the dreams one would have as a kid wanting to be a cop, but it's a career and I'm saving lives. It's either that or settling for meaningless rotations of the same over and over again. I'm sure you can relate."

A flash of surprise flits through Keith's eyes and his smile fades. "What makes you say that?"

"Born here, raised in Texas, probably dropped out of College and you don't have a stable job?" Allura reaches for a fry and stuffs it past her teeth. The soft potato bursts on her tongue in a mess of carbs and salt. "You hate simple routines and you spend your time at a fast food joint eating fifteen chicken sandwiches. Though you seem smart, judging by your wit and how easily you've kept your English despite living away from America for a long time."

"You got all that from what little I told you?" Keith lets out a little whistle and lets out a soft laugh. "Color me impressed, miss detective."

"It's my job," Allura says and reaches back down to grab her left-over food. "Anyway, thanks for buying me dinner. I've got a curfew and an early meeting to attend."

"Sorry about ruining your suit," Keith says and does nothing as she stands up and takes her tray with her. "Maybe I'll see you around again."

 _Not likely,_ Allura thought to herself but gives him a curt bow and grabs her things. She walks over toward the nearest trash bin and tosses the remains of her food and walks out the store. She pauses outside the glass doors to glance back through one of the windows. She spots him reaching back into a paper bag and pulling out yet another foil-wrapped sandwich and works on unwrapping it. It was a bizarre interaction to be sure, and she wasn't sure if this counted as one of those "meet-cutes" but something in that conversation made her want to move.

Shaking her head, Allura walks back to her car and settles in, realizing only several hours later (after she hit the treadmill anyway and took a hot shower) that she still has his handkerchief. She pulls it out from the pocket of her coke-stained pants, and spreads it out. Dark coke stains are spread like filth over the soft fabric and Allura makes a note to wash it and keep it with her if they should ever meet again. If she gives this back, maybe he'll tryly be out of her hair once and for all. She's about to throw it back with her dirty laundry when her eyes spot a peculiar detail. At the edge of the cloth near the corner, there was only a single letter stitched finely into the cloth.

A single red K.


	2. Chapter 2

It's only after the sun sets that the city changes. Lights mix with shadows like water and oil and it's rather unpleasant how sharp they cut through wide open spaces but keep the corners protected. Night time is a mirror world where the darkness can come out to play and not feel daunted by its counterpart. It's this change that permits the less noble to stalk the streets with confidence, only having to keep an eye out for flashing blue and red lights should the fuzz catch on to playtime. Neon lights and flashing colors create hiding places and a rabble of movement that is easy to sink behind, of this, he can feel comfortable shedding his mask of the day.

Black bullet-proof trenchcoat and gloves on, he makes a quick count of his weapons. Long blades rest at his hips and lower back. Harnesses around his thighs and upper back are snug and secure. From high on up on his perch, he can see the webs of the city glimmer like gold and silver. Cars zoom at a steady rate of flow through the streets and people clamber around one another like ants in a peaceful ant hill. Further ahead, his eyes catch the view of one Roppongi Police Station, standing like a silent observer among the bigger buildings of the city.

A click in his ear distracts him from the view just enough for him to click the radio attached to his wrist.

"Reaper," he responds in a low voice and waits as a billowing wind rises and pulls at his hair and coat. It's cool enough that the long cloak-like cover doesn't feel like its asphyxiating him with its kevlar-sewn in fabric.

 _"What's your status, buddy?_ "

The Red Reaper glances back up at the police station in the distance. "I'm in position."

_"Alright, now remember, I don't want you actually getting in unless Nyma makes the call. Once her star activates, though, you move in."_

It goes without saying but he doesn't respond with a quip or an eye roll. Up here, it was easier to let the cool rationale of this mentality take over. "Roger that."

_"Nyma, what's your four?"_

Another wind pushes at his head and the Reaper places a leg on the edge of the building.  _"I see him. Target's got two broncos and a libra with him. Package still not spotted."_

_"Will the broncos be a problem?"_

_"I can handle them. It's the libra that worries me."_

His recon work summons the images to which Nyma could only be referring to. Broncos usually means big burly bodyguard types, usually there for intimidation but not entirely a threat. Close combat would be tough with those around but not impossible. Nyma's contract would take care of them without issue.

_"Can you incapacitate him first?"_

_"I'll see what I can do. They're just talking right now--wait..._ "

He straightens, back tightening as he prepares for the sign that will invite him to drop. _"Package spotted. It's a metallic case."_

 _"Like candy from a baby,"_ the male voice in his ear sounds pleased before settling back into a serious tone. _"Reaper, what's the status on your Doll?"_

"She's ready," he responds and unsheathes the blades on his hips. He flicks a button with a thumb and a faint blue light appears at their hilts. The tech in his gloves activates and his harnesses tighten once in response. "Pidge, send in a ghost."

 _"Yes, sir."_ The soft, female monotone response meets his ears just as he spots a swift blue aura cut through the power lines like lightning.

 _"Visual on ghost,"_ Nyma's voice filters back in and he waits.  _"She's in the case."_

"Pidge," he says a moment later.

 _"They are using a protective film to cover the package's contents,"_ the monotone voice returns.  _"However, it is not difficult to break through. Shall I engage?"_

_"Negative, we know it's the package."_

_"Rolo, are you sure?"_   Nyma says, _"This wouldn't be the first time we've faced dummy cases."_

_"I rather we get it wrong than potentially break the seal and destroy the contents. Tell your Doll to back off, Reaper. Nyma, engage when ready."_

"Go back to the room, Pidge," the Reaper reaches into his coat pocket and retrieves a porcelain pierrot-inspired mask. It seals itself to the skin of his face and temples, snug and secure. Once ready, he places himself on the ledge of the building and extends his blade in the direction of the nearest building, opposite of the Police Station in the distance. With a squeeze, the triggers in his blades squeak and a long hook shot wire explodes from the hilt. He feels more than sees the hook dig into the concrete of the building, the wire going taught with resistance and force. He steps off the edge as soon as he hears her speak again.

_"Good luck."_

Gravity swallows him whole as he swings through the air. The webs of the city surround him as he flies over the streets and begins the familiar pursuit of a target. His body flexes hard and firm, twisting in the air with grace gained from experience alone. He hears cars honk and growl beneath him, oblivious to the darting figure blending into shadows quick enough to not catch the attention of anyone glancing up by chance. Like a pendulum, he reaches the peak of a swing and shoots out another hook into another building and contorts his body to dodge a tall flag post with ease. His feet collide with the side of a building as his swing takes him, pushing off with his legs and boots until he can control the inertia well enough to spot a landing on the top of another building. He lands with a roll and a screech of retracting wires.

Once his feet hit the floor, he bursts into a sprint over the roof until he reaches the back edge. Before him is signs of early construction on this section of the city. Tall beams and metal supports stand over the ground ahead like the skeletal beginnings of another building. Here, the lighting is poor and a hideous yellow, but it leaves pretty thick shadows and nice corners to slide behind. He spots the meeting of thugs easily through the dead trees of metal and iron. His mask gives a gentle whirring and he leans a little further from his perch.

"...w...is this the last of it?" his eyes hone in on the main thug smoking a joint and standing by an armored vehicle, flanked by the Broncos. He spots the libra Nyma mentioned, hands at his sides in an at-ease position. This man has pale hair and a slight figure, suit clothes looking haggard in a way all thugs sort of liked to look like.

"I already told you, you'll be receiving the last of it in a week," the libra says flippantly in informal Japanese. His voice carries an undertone of annoyance. "This is more than an insurance policy and your boss is already aware."

"The boss changed his plans," Main thug tosses his joint on the ground and snuffs its light with a grimy dress shoe. "He wants the full payment up front."

Libra makes no motion but sighs, irate. "You people are all the same. I'm not paying the rest. Now give me the case."

"I don't think I like your tone."

"What, you gonna sick your dogs at me?" Libra snorts. "I may be alone but I'm not helpless, Kaizer. Tell your boss I'm sending the rest of the payment  _after_ I make sure the product is legit."

 _"Nyma,"_  Rolo's voice filters in through the feed in his ear. _"What's_ _the deal, did they make the exchange yet or not?"_

_"Just a sec, they're still talking. Libra isn't budging on not paying the full amount."_

The Reaper glances through the air, seeking for a sign of the contractor hiding in the dark. She is well hidden, which is good. The Reaper waits patiently, turning his attention back on the deal going on just meters away.

_"Reaper, can't you send in your Doll? Make them get a move on or something."_

_"That's not how Dolls work, Rolo."_  Nyma's mildly annoyed tone saves the Reaper from responding and he's somewhat glad he doesn't have to be the only one rolling his eyes.  _"Hold on, looks like they're finally making the exchange."_

True to her words, the main thug nods to a Bronco who takes the case and begins to walk toward Libra. Libra is holding a single data card in his hands in plain view, and the Reaper spots his chance. From his coat, he pulls out a thin laser aims it at the card. His mask filters the view with a click and UV filter covers his eyes enough to spot card in the Libra's hands. He sucks in a breath and presses the trigger on the laser pointer, sees the thin ray cut through the air and land on Libra's wrist. A single adjustment later and the laser bounces off the card.

"Pidge," he says once. Not a full second later passes when he feels a whoosh of energy slide up his leg, up his torso, and out the laser pointer in his hands. The Ghost travels the six hundred meters of space in less than a blink of an eye. The feed in his ear switches and he hears a faint humming in a distant background.

_"I'm in."_

He clicks the laser pointer off and tugs the machine in his pocket again just as he spots movement from his twelve o'clock. Back during the exchange, the Bronco takes the card in Libra's hand just as he passes the case over. It is a matter of milliseconds, where the case begins to press into Libra's waiting fingers and the Reaper spots the instantaneous blue glow of lancelnoptchrotron radiation surround the darting figure approaching. He leaps off the ledge of the building just as he sees the figure swoop up from below and swing over the Bronco's massive shoulders.

His feet land and he rolls to absorb the blow, rising just as he sees Nyma's black covered figure twist over the Bronco's neck. She squeezes her thighs around his jaw, following the flow of her movement to brutally snap the Bronco's neck just as she swings an arm toward the other Bronco staring in surprised shock. A sharp stilleto digs into the man's forehead and he falls before he could even guess what killed him.

Just as swiftly as she appeared, she swings behind Libra, who had taken a swift step backward in shock. Without warning, her arms wrap around his figure like she would be embracing a lover, her mouth pressing hard against his jaw and ear. At this distance, the Reaper could see the red glow of the radiation echo brightly within her pupils, flashing dangerously. Yet, despite her speed, the Reaper knows she had been only a half-second too late. A similar blue glow surrounds the Libra and his eyes, narrow and focused on his attacker, shine red like hers. The combined force of the radiation makes them shine like beacons to the Reaper's eyes.

He sprints toward them, seeing the main thug shout in fear, "Contractors!" before he turns to trip a swift escape toward the armored vehicle and revving away in fright. The Reaper pays the man no mind, his eyes honing on the metallic case now bouncing off the ground with a loud clatter.

He slides in and swoops the case up just as he sees Nyma leap away from the Libra. The slight man's body doubles over, muscles bulging until his body was the size of the Bronco's and he swung a fist in Nyma's direction. She dodges the blow with seeming ease and the Reaper spots her shoot a glance in his direction with a nod. Her body begins glowing once more.

He wastes no time and presses a button on his blade's hilts. The sounds of the world cease like he had been dropped into space. His own heartbeat swells in his ears as he makes a swift escape away from Nyma and the swinging libra. He turns and sees just as Nyma rushes in, side-stepping a massive blow that splinters the ground and she runs up the libra's body to clamp back over his neck. She parts her lips and a series of shockwaves distort the air and over the Libra's body. Glass rains around them from nearby windows shattering and the Reaper ducks under the shards.

Libra throws his hands up, falling to his knees and grasps his head. Squirts of blood blow from his nose, eyes, and mouth, yet he manages to swing and throw Nyma off his body. A wave of pain follows the Reaper's movements and he bits down a grunt of agony. Despite being safe, the shockwaves make his body slow with agitated pain. He shakes it off best as he can and rushes behind the preoccupied Libra, who was now swinging wildly toward Nyma's nimble figure.

The Reaper swings up into the air, blade extended just as he lands on the Libra's upper back. A burst of air explodes past his lips just as he stabs his blade into the Libra's head. Any regular human skull would've fractured beneath the force of his attack, yet the Libra's head remained strong against the steel knife. The Reaper isn't fazed, because no sooner does he swing that the edges of his body glow blue and his eyes shine red. He summons a wave of energy and when the steel blade digs into Libra's head, he unleashes it into Libra's body.

The hot stench of boiling blood and burning flesh surrounds him and he waits until the Libra is done thrashing and twitching beneath him. A moment later, Libra is still and the Reaper leaps off his body before it crashes to the ground.

Just like that, the battle is over. He stares at the steaming corpse for a moment before glancing up and pressing the button on his hilts. Sure enough, he spots a star glisten bright before falling out of sight. Sound returns to his ears and the sound of the city surrounds him in a dull roar. Nyma is standing several feet away, violet eyes appraising him simply before glancing at his hand.

"The case," she says, extending a hand. The Reaper says nothing and tosses it over without particular care. She plucks it from the air just as she lifts a gloved hand to her mouth and pulls the glove off with her teeth. A moment later she pulls out a marker and begins to draw a series of x's over her skin. In the faint light, he catches fading marks beneath her sleeve and on her skin before he turns and seeks the filthy concrete ground for his prize.

The card shimmers with the passing presence of the Ghost just several feet away. He reaches down and yanks the card up before pocketing it in his coat.

"Need help?" Nyma asks him gesturing to him with the tilt of her chin and fingers reaching up to tug at the material of her black turtleneck. He shakes his head.

"I'll manage my payment later."

"Suit yourself," she says and readjusts her clothes back into place. "But if you don't do it soon, you're going to get sick."

He doesn't give her any further response and turns around, glancing around the wreckage and giving his weapons a quick glance over. The tips of his blades shimmer with fading heat and he appraises them for a moment before deeming it safe to place them back in their sheaths at his hips.

"Tell Rolo to send the money by midnight," he says casually before facing Nyma. She gives him a nod before taking a few steps toward him. He does nothing as she lifts her hands to cradle his face and press a kiss over his mask where his mouth is. He frowns behind it when she pulls away.

"I thought you paid your payment already," he says. She gives him a smile that is almost mischievous if not for the fact her eyes were rather flat of emotion.

"Consider it a small thank you for the help. I don't usually work well with others."

He doesn't know what to say only that she gives him a wink before turning and darting back into the shadows in a whirl of blonde hair and black clothes. He wastes no more time either and retreats back into the night just as he could make out the distinct sound of police sirens heading their way. With the mission successfully completed, the Reaper darts through buildings and deeper into the streets and the darker edges of Roppongi. He has long removed himself from the frequency Rolo and Nyma share, basking in the silence that success now rockets him forward. His body still thrums with adrenaline and energy, aching at the joints from Nyma's sonic blast. He had saved his eardrums, yes, but had he moved quicker he might've spared himself the aches that are incoming.

He hears a soft squeak in his ear and a gentle prod of energy in the pocket where the card sits.

"I'm almost home, Pidge," he says, voice steady as he flew through the air and darted over rooftops.

_"I made dinner."_

He blinks and a wave of surprise follows before it fades. "Are you alright?"

_"The memories are returning. I'm beginning to revert."_

He nibbles on his lower lip before setting his jaw firmly. "Stay calm, I'm almost there."

It takes him another three minutes before his feet land on a familiar building near the slums of Roppongi. The streets are still clean, but the smell is older, damp. It's less than pretty but it's a good place to lay low. He ducks under long lines of dry laundry and heads toward the main door. He drops down the staircase with ease just in time to reach the apartment door. One second to unlock it and he swept inside, mask coming off and being placed back inside his coat.

The smell of rice and miso soup was oddly nice considering it wasn't always this occurred. The kitchen was faintly lit and the wooden floor and carpet ahead are unusually clean. He notes this with a frown and hurries in, foregoing removing his shoes to find his companion. It was not a hard search. She was sitting calmly on their futon, staring blankly ahead until he strode in. It would've left him feeling relieved if not for the sight of brown locks of hair cut from her hair to spread around her. The length she now sports was short and odd in how it stuck out in unusual spikes around her. He spots the scissors in her hand and he moves quickly to remove the potentially dangerous object from her grasp.

"Hey," he says, voice gentle. "Hey, I'm here."

She doesn't respond, her eyes staring blankly ahead before blinking once and glancing slowly up at him. "I made dinner," she says, her voice hollow.

"I see that," he says. "What other payments have you made?"

She considers his words quietly before glancing around, "I cut my hair."

"What else?"

"I cleaned up the flat."

He glances around and sees that she did indeed clean up. Even now, beneath the scent of rice and miso soup still cooking, he could catch the sharp smell of clorox and soap. A wave of nausea fills him and he shakes it away.  _Later._ "Pidge, what else did you do?"

"I drank salt water. Broke a plate..." her voice trails off when a sudden dawning of emotion appears in her eyes and she meets his gaze. He smiles at her when she lets out a shuddering gasp and begins to tremble. Her expression is filled with life and nerves, and in that moment the Doll is no more. Just the remnants of a girl and the shadow of a Contractor.  "I...I'm... I reverted. I'm...!"

He gathers her face in his palms and lets out gentle shushing sounds and her fingers clench around his. "You're safe, Katie. You're safe."

She gasps a few times, pushing away the beginnings of an episode before she pushes him away. "Your payment, have you done it yet?"

He shakes his head, "You're in flux right now. It can wait until it's over." He pulls away and reaches inside his coat and brings up the card he had stolen earlier. He presses its cool surface against her forehead and a flash of aura burns from the card and into her skin. Pidge's eyes close and for a moment she goes still. He waits, seeing her eyes flicker beneath her lids quickly and her shoulders finally fall forward.

"Analysis received," she says and she sounds calmer. "Sorry about that."

"You're fine, just take it easy," he says, watching as she blinks again and he can see the last of the wave of emotions fade with a final display. Her chestnut eyes well up with tears for a moment and she lets out a shuddering breath once more before she begins to settle and calm. Once she does, her eyes fall into the same emotionlessness that befits a Doll. She looks up at him and gives him a faint smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

"I made dinner," she says and the monotone in her voice is enough to tell him she has achieved equilibrium.

"Show me your neck," he says and leans down. She obeys without protest, arching her jaw to expose her throat, covered with fading marks and bruises no one else could've left. Another wave of nausea threatens to break over his stomach until his mouth connects with her skin and his teeth sink firmly against the steady thrum of her pulse. She remains unmoving as he pulls her close and sucks her skin between his teeth hard. He takes in a breath and allows the urge fall until he no longer felt the need to suckle her flesh. His lips pull away with a soft sound that would draw shivers from anyone else, but Pidge makes no movement or sign of reaction. She only meets his gaze after he's done breathing somewhat harshly.

Payment complete, he pulls away from her and pushes himself to his feet and heads toward the kitchen where the rice and miso await. He begins to serve himself an abundant amount when he sees Pidge at the mouth of the kitchen, a new dark bruise marring her throat, and staring at him before saying in a soft voice,

"Welcome back, Keith."

* * *

 

At midnight, his phone buzzes and its light brightens the dark room for a moment. Keith props himself up on his elbow and reaches for the smartphone sitting plugged in just a foot away from the edge of their futon. At his side, Pidge continues to sleep, burrowed against his side and eyes closed peacefully. He tries not to look at her for too long, it makes his heart threaten to fall. Such emotions were unnecessary for a contractor.

He checks the notifications on his screen and spots the wireless transfer into his account. the numbers, 160,000¥ appear and he scowls. That was forty thousand less than the agreed upon price. He shifts again, unlocking the phone and swiftly dialing a number from memory. Pidge's fingers tighten around his skin, bare of his black tee, before relaxing as the line sounds in his ear before it clicks.

"We agreed on two hundred," he says without preamble.

 _"There's been a slight change of plans,"_ Rolo's voice is easygoing despite the aggravation staining Keith's tone.  _"Turns out what we got wasn't the full package."_

"Not my problem," Keith grunts. "We agreed on two hundred for this mission."

 _"We agreed on two hundred for the full package's extraction."_ Rolo counters,  _"You're lucky I gave you that much instead of not sending anything at all."_

"You really ought to know not to pick a battle with me." Keith sits up completely, glaring into the dark before reaching down to brush Pidge's brown hair from her face. He had only been able to fix the awkward haircut with his knife just barely. In the morning, he'll be sure to have them visit a salon.

 _"Relax, Reaper,"_ Rolo replies with a snort.  _"I'm not going to stiff you out of the deal. We already know where the rest of the package is. It's a Doll named Beezer. We just need to extract it and what information he has on the last bit. Your Doll is an expert at extraction, is it not?"_

"She is," Keith responds curtly.

_"Then it shouldn't be a problem. We're meeting tonight for the extraction. I'll send you coordinates soon. Until then, ciao."_

Keith pulls the phone away only to glare at the screen for a moment. With a toss, he sends the phone flying back on the ground. It slides across the tatami and carpet before clattering against a kerchief container. He sees the light that bounces from the metal clip and remembers blue eyes and dark skin.

 _Senior Detective Allura Altea,_ his mind brings up the information as he settles back into the futon and Pidge snuggles back into his side warmly. He had been able to swipe some information from her easily when they first bumped into one another at Mindy's. Her wristwatch encryption was no match for Pidge's ghost hack and so he was able to access plenty of information from the woman. She is barely a year or so older than him but she was already made into Senior Detective at the Roppongi Police Station. It was impressive, but if that is anything to go by was that she is clearly a workaholic with a minuscule social life.

With his latest return from Osaka he would need to ensure he had a good source of intel from the Police. A memory of her looking up at him through silver lashes and rosy lips return unbidden. He saw a spark in her eyes, one of defiance and profound curiosity, one that loved to break a new mystery only to dissect it later.

_She could be useful..._

_She could also be dangerous._

_Not going to make the same mistakes again..._

Keith closes his eyes, recalling the last time he had gotten mixed up with police detectives. He lifts a hand and rubs at the broad scar over his collarbone, sinking back into his pillow as his last thoughts circle the face of another detective, this time with a broad scar over a sharp nose. There's a faint ghost of satisfaction that follows the memory, glad he had been the reason for such an obvious scar for such a well-deserved price.

"Here's hoping he's dead," he murmurs before drifting off to a dreamless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

She wakes to the cheery tune of her phone's ringtone, and it's so abrupt that it literally drags her from the dregs of sleep and into a groggy wakefulness. Allura pulls her head up from its stifling crevice between the crook of her elbow and her pillow. She blinks blearily through the curtains of unruly silver hair and spots the blinking light of her phone as it buzzed and sang for her attention. She flips her arm over to throw her hair over her head and away from her face, glancing around with a slow confusion. It was still dark, though the faint glow of first light was beginning to pulse through her blinds.

Allura groans and reaches for her phone, grabbing the buzzing nightmare from the surface of her nightstand before bringing it close to her face. The light blinds her and she blinks away stars to see into her caller ID. She doesn't recognize the number and she is tempted to click ignore and go back to bed. Instead, she clears her throat rather gruffly and squeezes the green circle on her screen with her thumb.

"This is Altea," Allura speaks, glad at she sounds more awake than she currently feels.

 _"Detective,"_ Shirogane Takashi's voice filters through her ear with a bit of an anxious edge. Allura frowns.  _"Sorry to wake you, but you need to come in."_

He sounds stressed and that is enough to spur her brain from sinking back to sleep. She pushes herself up and lets her legs slide off the side of her bed. She stifles a yawn, asking, "What is it? What's wrong?"

_"Last night the Red Reaper's Messier code was active."_

What sleep remains is thrown carelessly over her shoulder. In a breath, Allura reaches over to her nightstand lamp and flicks the button on. Warm, amber light, spills all around her and Allura pushes herself off her bed to hurry towards her bathroom.

"What else?"

_"It wasn't just his, several other stars were active as well. Police found a crime scene just five miles near the station. Messier Code JE414, a man known as Jay Kirishima, also known as Libra Forty One."_

"Do we have any witnesses?" Allura wedges her phone between her jaw and shoulder, grabbing a hair tie and a towel off the rack in her bathroom.

_"Not yet. I'm heading to the morgue now."_

She nods and sets the phone down just as she says, "I'll meet you there in thirty." The call disconnects a moment later and she ties her hair up and away. In minutes, she's washed, dried, and dressed in a black and gray pantsuit. She wastes no time with make-up, hurrying out her bedroom to snatch a banana from her coffee table and stride out her main door. She doubles back to snatch her car keys from a bowl by the door, reset her alarm system before fully heading out.

The drive to the morgue is uneventful and after an attempt to listen to the news on the radio leaves Allura feeling unbelievably annoyed (yet another group of skeptics who think they know more about crime than the actual police) she switches it off and focuses on the road ahead. When she does arrive, her agitation only climbs when, upon parking, she sees Shirogane standing outside the main doors, glancing at his wristwatch with impatience.

She's ready to bite back at any sign of snark, walking up to the concrete stairs. Her wedges clack against the asphalt certainly and she's readying a sharp quip when Shirogane meets her gaze and he looks so relieved it yanks the words away from her throat in a hum of surprise.

"Good morning," he says. Allura nods and follows him in and he immediately jumps into a tirade of information. "Sorry to wake you so early again."

"Detective," Allura begins, only to have him cut through her words with a quick spin and stride into the morgue.

"I got you coffee," he says over his shoulder, like an after thought that she was supposed to catch between her hands. She fumbles with the declaration but nevertheless hurries after him. Their shoes clack against the linoleum and the air cuts through her like a cold knife. Allura is swiftly reminded of her longstanding hatred of the morgue.

"I hate coffee," Allura says as they reach the front counter, yet she accepts one of the polyethylene cups from his hands when he offers. She lets her fingers warm from the hot coffee inside and she catches the faint scent of something sugary over the sharp smell of coffee.

"Yeah, can't say I love the stuff myself," Shirogane responds and she catches the wince on his face when he drags a sip into his mouth from his own cup. "Mr. Smythe's already expecting us in."

Allura doesn't want to say she's becoming fond of her partner, not so early in the game. But there is a genuine lack of tension in the space between them as they begin their trek through the cold hallways. "Well, let's go see our victim." 

* * *

 

The body was a  _mess_.

Allura's nose wrinkles as she stares down the prostrate figure on the autopsy table. Her stomach rolls when it becomes apparent that the heady and very thick stench of iron and overcooked meat originates from it. She clears her throat as quietly as possible, as a means to shove down the urge to throw up her only bit of breakfast. Allura decides she is not going to make a mess of herself in front of her junior and looks away from the body. 

"Bit of a mess, isn't he?" the mortician, a Mr. Coran Smythe, says with a bit of a perk in his voice. To most detectives, Smythe's cheery comments come off as eccentric and odd. Judging by Shirogane's expression, it would seem the comment seemed to strike a similar impression.

"Yeah," Shirogane says, if a bit drily. "A bit."

Allura's lips twitch and she pulls the white sheet further off the body and stifles another urge to gag. "What can you tell us about the victim, Coran?"

"Aside from what you already know?" Smythe asks, tugging at his ginger mustache with his thumb and forefinger. "I'm afraid not too much. The attack that killed him has certainly done enough to make identifying other wounds difficult to determine. He suffered from severe burns that caused massive internal hemorrhaging and shot his body temperature through the roof. He was boiled alive from the inside. I can't imagine a worse way to go... well... maybe I could actually."

"Will you be able to determine anything else from a full autopsy?" Allura surveys the body with her eyes, burning the image into her mind whether she liked it or not.

"It certainly goes without saying, though I wouldn't hold out," Smythe says with a sigh. "His wounds are rather extensive. Still, I'll keep you in the know, princess."

At Shirogane's raised brow Allura nods and pulls the fabric back over the corpse. "I appreciate it, Coran. Send us what you have directly to the office."

"Eh, won't CSI be able to handle that?"

"Thank you, Coran," Allura gives him another smile and bows. Shirogane follows suit, saying nothing when the ginger-haired man merely waves at them with a bright smile. She's grateful he doesn't say anything until after they've finished downing the last of their coffee and heading out the main doors. The sky is faintly lit with the incoming rays of sunlight, and it's such a bleak sight she looks away to look at her partner. Shirogane's chiseled features are cut grim beneath the stark yellow light of the street lights and the odd glow of first light.

"He's... interesting."

"He's an old family friend," she responds. "You get used to his eccentricities. They're an acquired taste."

"Right," he says, and there's an odd moment where neither of them know what to say. It's a curious predicament to be sure. Allura has never had to entertain a junior before and this wasn't a man with visible water behind the ears or any green clinging to his roots. It would be foolish of her to adopt an attitude of experience when, quite frankly, he carried an air about him that conveyed he knew more than she did. Despite all this, she couldn't detect the expected undertones of irritation or even exasperation of dealing with someone clearly more inexperienced than you as a superior.

"I'm going to get breakfast," she announces and she isn't sure if it's good that he perks up. It could just be the caffeine now thrumming through their veins. "Would you like to join me?"

"Oh, uh," and his expression is flummoxed. "Sure, I suppose."

Allura misreads his comment and frowns. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

Shirogane takes a step with a small start, "No, no. I'd like to. Besides, there is much more about this case that we could cover on the way."

"Precisely," Allura replies, and she brushes off the slight tug of disappointment at his words. "Did you drive here?"

He shakes his head, "Uh, no. I took a cab here. I don't... have a license here."

Allura blinks in surprise. It wasn't entirely unusual. Tokyo and most of Japan didn't rely on personal transportation like most other places in the world. Nevertheless, the confession does surprise her, though she works hard not to show it too much on her face.

"Oh, well, then you can ride with me." She takes off in the direction of her vehicle, gesturing politely (and a bit awkwardly) for him to follow. Shirogane does and they don't exchange another word until after they settle inside the car and drive off in the direction of the main street.

The car ride isn't any less awkward, and she can't help but feel extra wired knowing he is sitting right on her left in a tense silence. She almost offers to turn on the radio, but the earlier attempt to listen to the talk shows that usually pepper the soundwaves are more of a nuisance than pleasant white noise to accompany the scanner on her dashboard.

Instead, they are forced to sit and listen to the occasional chatter on the police frequencies, distinguishing codes for potential robberies, an accident just south of their current route, and a fire in a convenience store. Considering they were not officially on the clock, Allura doesn't give the scanner much notice save the occasional curious glance.

"So..."

Shirogane's voice cuts through the air so abruptly, her hands flinch in surprise. "Sorry," he apologizes.

"Oh no," she replies and flicks her blinker before merging into the right lane. "You just startled me. Go on...?"

"Right... Princess?" he sounds tentative and confused, and Allura can't help but find it funny that of all things to ask, he sticks to a childhood nickname.

Allura lets out a light laugh, "Family friend, remember? I've known Coran for years. Some nicknames stick even after I stop working as a civilian."

"I see," and again he says nothing for a while. She was almost glad for the conversation until it died a quick death. Allura inwardly slumps and tries to think of something to throw into his court, but she doesn't really have it in her now. It's at this moment that she recognizes the street they are about to pass. Just past the sidewalk stands the Mindy's she had visited only several hours prior, and for an odd moment, her eyes follow the restaurant, attempting to catch a deeper look past its' wide windows and into it's brightly lit interior. She can barely tell that there are a few patrons inside, waiting for meals or already eating before they zoom right past and Mindy's flies past her rearview mirrors.

Her mind wanders back to that strange interaction with Keith; the young man dressed like a teenager and eating one too many chicken sandwiches. He had the most curious eyes, Allura thinks. She couldn't recall ever meeting someone with indigo eyes and such a strange penchant for weird conversation. It's probably this train of thought that shocks the oddest question from her lips.

"Tell me, do you like chicken sandwiches?" 

She can see Shirogane give a slight start at her question and when she tosses him a quick glance she sees just the faintest flash of a shadow over his eyes. It was too quick for her to take appropriate note of what it was before he gives her a curious look.

"Not...particularly, why?"

Allura can't think of a good enough response, so she shrugs and settles for, "No reason. ...There's an eggcellent nearby, want to go there?"

"Sure."

And when they arrive, it is easier to forget about indigo eyes and chicken sandwiches when she busies herself with eggs, toast, and a tall glass of orange juice.

* * *

 "Kurogane Isamu and Seidou Tsuyoshi," Allura reads the names aloud as she peers at the detective files on the table. Shirogane glances up from where he sat just across from her, jacket removed and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It's a mighty fine look, if she can allow herself the moment of weakness. His broad chest and shoulders only look even more cut and strong beneath the shoulder harness wrapped around them. Allura glances away to look back at the files, catching herself from openly ogling any longer than was appropriate, and slides the files in her partner's direction.

"New additions to the team," she says as the files slide across the black glass table top. It's noon, and after a particularly semi-eventful breakfast spent in slowly budding conversation, Allura is still no closer to deciding where she personally stood with Shirogane. On the one hand; pragmatism. She'd be an idiot to honestly consider anything even remotely indecent with her junior officer considering their only source of connection. On the other; that shoulder harness may not be popular with other police officers but on this man, it is practically  _sinful._ Whatever happened to the ill-fitting suit of yesterday? She couldn't find it in her to care.

_Fight on, Allura._

To her relief, Shirogane doesn't take notice to her quick glances over the taut fabric of his dress shirt or the leather straps of his harness. His eyes dutifully take in the information on the files in front of him, honing in critically before he looks up and gives her a nod.

"They seem qualified," he says, and there's something distant about it that it allows whatever heat is threatening to rise to her cheeks to cool with an inward huff.

"They seem young," Allura replies, and she keeps her voice composed instead of sounding annoyed. "Barely out of the academy and they're already being assigned contractor cases."

"This bothers you," Shirogane says and she isn't sure it's a question.

Allura lifts a hand and tugs a stray lock of ivory hair over her ear. "Every year the public becomes more and more suspicious over what's really happening in the underground. Every year it's becoming harder to justify the appearance of Hell's Gate in Tokyo as anything less than an international conspiracy gone wrong. Green officers don't entirely fill me up with confidence against the constant rate of PR nightmares we have to tip-toe to avoid."

"That's understandable," Shirogane replies and he pushes himself out of his seat, aligning the files together and straightening them on the table's surface with a firm  _clack_. "However, considering the rate of contractors taking bolder action in public, it doesn't seem like we have much choice in the matter."

Allura watches as he sets the files down and grabs a newspaper clipping out of the mess of papers all over his side of the table. He strides around to approach the long evidence board behind her and grabs a thumb tack from a little box next to her cup of Darjeeling tea. He's close enough that she could just faintly catch the scent of his aftershave. Not long after they arrived from breakfast, Shirogane had disappeared within the station's showers. He reappeared not thirty minutes later, fully dressed in a fresh dark gray pantsuit and smelling crisp and sharp. Even the shadows under his eyes appeared lighter. She might've been jealous of his ability to clean up if she hadn't been so focused on keeping her eyes elsewhere.

"What's that?" Allura asks when her eyes catch the headline on the newspaper clipping he's attached to a long list of others.

"A possible lead," he says simply, eyes never steering from the board before them.

Allura frowns, "Renown Business Investor's fifteen-year-old son turned recluse? How is that a lead?"

Shirogane doesn't respond, his eyes focusing solely on the numerous clippings strewn together. Allura purses her lips, deciding then that she does not appreciate being ignored by her junior. New or not, the heirarchy was in place for a reason.

She parts her lips to begin a long-suffering spiel on respect and the order of command when the door to their case room suddenly swings open. Allura barely manages to say, "Shirogane--" before she is cut off by boisterous conversation.

"--And that's when I said, girl, you know these cuffs of mine have more than one use!"

Allura glances toward the door just as Shiro turns, and they behold a tall young man in a deep blue suit sans jacket, his police badge worn proudly on his hip next to his holster. His skin is a deep tan color, narrow eyes a startling blue shade, and his chestnut hair betrays no ounce of unnecessary seriousness so long as he was in the room. He carries his jacket over his shoulder and a couple of files tucked under an arm. He is followed by a huskier man of skin a deeper shade and a face that could only ever be described as open and friendly, maybe even a little nervous. The bigger man was dressed in a bigger suit yet it nonetheless looked rather small on him.

"Smooth, Lance," the bigger one says, voice dry.

Lance's lips pulls into a pleased grin that freezes once he turns his chin and is caught under Allura's pointed stare. What happens next could almost be dubbed as comical because he suddenly stops short and grips at his chest.

"Pinch me, Hunk, because we either walked into a dream or I just met my dream girl," Lance says. What little impression she has of mentally appraising Lance's good looks and overflowing charisma is quickly tugged into a sea of annoyance.

"Gentlemen," Shiro cuts in before the smooth-talker had any more chances to embarrass himself. "You must be Kurogane and Seidou?"

Lance begins to sweep an arm, his eyes narrowing seductively in Allura's direction when he is quickly silenced by Hunk's sharp jab to the side. "Ah-yes, sir," Hunk says, reaching a hand behind Lance's head to push him down into a respectful bow.

"Seidou Tsuyoshi," Hunk says, "And this is my associate, Kurogane Isamu."

"The name is Lance," Lance says, after straightening. "Big guy here is Hunk. If we're making introductions, we might as well get that out of the way."

At Allura's raised brow, Hunk seems to break into a sweat. "Please forgive my friend, he think's he's American."

Lance scowls openly at that, "I was practically raised there, Hunk, what's your deal."

"Then you'll have no concern speaking in English then," Allura interjects, crossing her arms. "If we're going to be addressing you by western names."

Lance's eyes brighten with enough energy to blind them. "No concern whatsoever," Lance says and his accent is flawless, while predominantly American. "If anything it would be preferable."

"I don't see what's so wrong about Japanese," Hunk mutters to himself before letting out a sigh. "Fine," he says in English and doesn't seem to carry a noticeable accent either. "You can call me whatever suits you, Hunk or Seidou, I don't mind."

As expected, Shirogane begins his own introduction. "I'm Junior Detective Takashi Shirogane and this is Allura Altea; senior detective of this investigation." Allura almost smiles when Lance looks at her once more, only this time the flirty glint in his gaze is gone, replaced by one of shock and even mortified realization.

"O-oh, you're our," Lance begins and trails off, cheeks flushing pink as he straightens.

"You would know if you read the file that's under your arm," Allura says, nudging her chin and glancing pointedly at said file. Lance colors a little deeper but he says nothing. To his credit, the duo assumes a respectful stance of attention. "Have the two of you read the file at all or should we break the seal now?"

"Yes, ma'am," Lance says, carefully. "We have read the case file."

"Very good," Allura says and glances at the open seats at the table. "Take a seat. Detective Shirogane will be briefing you on the details of this case as well as answering any questions you have. Once we have gotten the basics out of the way, we'll begin with our plan of attack. As of last night, our target has made a move and killed yet another person. Since you were assigned this case, I must assume you are aware of our nation's current situation with that of Hell's Gate and the secrecy we must uphold in regards to Contractors, Dolls, and Moratoriums. I will make this clear now,"

Allura pauses to fix them a stern glare that betrays no tolerance for nonsense. "You will be helping us hunt down one of the most dangerous contractors known to date. Which means that any and all means necessary in capturing him and bringing him to justice will be done. So if you have any reservations, any doubts, or any concerns for your personal well beings, leave them at the door. Because we are dealing with a cold-blooded killer who boils his victims from the inside and that, gentlemen, cannot be allowed to continue."

Peace said, Allura leans away and turns her attention to Shirogane, "Detective, if you please."

And for a split moment, she isn't certain, but she thinks she may have seen something like awe over his gaze. But as quickly as it came it was gone and much like the memory of an indigo-eyed youth, Allura didn't spare it a second thought. Shirogane turns his attention to the other detectives sitting before them and gives them a quick nod.

"Right," he says, "Here's what we know...."

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

The existence of Contractors, if one's being honest, has only been known by those who are intimately aware of the ongoings of the Hell's Gate incident. In the first few months of research and investigation in this new found phenomena, the one thing that most supposed "experts" could agree on was that:

1) Contractors were usually gifted with abilities that strayed into the bizarre and supernatural, 2) felt obligated to fulfill a "payment" upon completing the use of said ability for a period of time, and 3) that they were--effectively--rather emotionless. Several years of further study into Contractors, soon followed by the discovery of Dolls, Ghosts, and the far more volatile Moratoriums, have gained new evidence to challenge the latter claims of emotionlessness.

However, contrary to popular and speculatory belief, Contractors were not without emotions at all. Many of them claim to feel more than what the red-sealed texts would agree on. Some even made extreme shows of proving this; which, as it happens, is not something the logic-minded majority of Contractors would ever dare commit. And thus, it could be argued that those desperate enough to prove some kindness of connection to their former humanity are outliers and shouldn’t count as true and proper Contractors.

Even so, the entire topic that revolves around Hell's Gate and the many people affected by the years that followed, is still a neck-deep issue of "who the hell knows nowadays, right?"

One thing can be easily agreed on, though; No Contractor will ever make a decision that wasn't wholly founded in logic and cold-hearted pragmatism.

Which is why it only feels like he's in over his head because of the throat-tightening worry that Pidge was going to revert at any minute. Moments such as these cause flitting thoughts of questioning over his own identity, leaving Keith to wallow in his own inner turmoils entirely on his own.

Are Contractors emotionless? Probably, he'd respond. There have been definitive times where he would experience neither concern nor worry, body and soul locked tight under the security of apathy. Other times though, and these occurred more often than he cares to admit, it’s a different story. But for that, he has a different answer.

"That's what the damn mask is for."

So, it comes as no surprise that despite the tugs at his throat and the ever present tingling sensation to slam his hand on a metaphorical "abort" button and call this mission quits, the Red Reaper looks as cool and relaxed as the rest of the many unknowing park-goers on this very sunny, Saturday afternoon.

To add further proof to point, a yawn cracks through his jaw and escapes boisterously as he allows his back to slowly meet the grassy knoll beneath his running pants. He adopts a look of blissful ignorance, his eyes trailing aimlessly over the people who are enjoying the fine weather and the sun as much as he appeared to.

Here, he blends in rather well, and no one would guess that this college-looking boy with hair tied at his nape in a short ponytail, and wearing fine running gear, could ever end up being a notorious assassin.

_"Eyes on target."_

The words in his ears only cause the muscles in his stomach to contract once. Keith doesn't even move from his position of people-watching on the base of his small hill. 

_"You sure she can do this, Reaper?"_

A jab of annoyance stabs into his throat once before disappearing. Keith stretches as he settles and closes his eyes for a moment.

"You want to stop wasting time asking me stupid questions?"

The feed in his ear goes quiet after that, but it does nothing to soothe the tug in his throat. He _is_ worried, but not for the same reasons Nyma was probably chewing away at her nails right now—Well...

Assuming the Kissing Wraith contractor even felt anything akin to nerves.

_"She's in the sandbox."_

_Finally._ Keith opens his eyes and lifts himself up to a sitting position, casually reaching over to his water bottle and gathering a swig to entertain himself. He gives a wandering look at the park ahead. Still the same; happy family picnic at his three o'clock, three awkward dates spaced out at 2, 8, and 9 o'clock, and the kid's park plus sandbox right at his twelve. His eyes land right on where Pidge is getting comfortable. He has to fight off the wince at her attire. Dressing her up like a toddler was not a good idea, no matter how right Nyma was.

Pidge's slight figure and new haircut makes her look like a twelve-year-old boy. That, plus the current get-up she is sporting... It's almost humiliating, all things considered. Not like she could complain, but he's certain she will be giving him a stronger silent treatment than the usual when this is over.

 _"Where's the doll?"_ He hears Nyma voice the question in his mind just as he turns his attention elsewhere. His spot in the park was conveniently placed in the best position for viewing the entire exchange. Here, he had eyes everywhere save the places Rolo and Nyma were covering. If there is any sign of the doll they were looking to extract, he doesn't see it.

 _"Coming around the bend with his keeper,"_ Rolo replies a second later.  _"Reaper, that would be your four."_

Keith's eyes swerve to land in the direction Rolo pointed out. It's the trail he had been previously running on around the park to establish his position. Nothing.

"ETA?"

_"Ten... nine... eight..."_

Keith was grateful he could finish the count on his own. As soon as his head ticked  _one,_  a boy and elderly man duo appeared around the corner past a few trimmed bushes.

At first glance, one can assume the boy is the one assisting the old man in their slow walk around the park. Upon closer inspection, however, it's clear the old man iss leading the boy, hunched back turned in the child's direction and speaking encouragingly. The boy's face was too far to see and Keith doesn't have the equipment to aid, but he doubts he would need his mask to see the very obvious flat and emotionless expression over the boy's face.

If Contractors were perfect actors at expressing emotions to when it suited them, Dolls were notorious for expressing absolutely nothing. True to the hominem. 

 _"Aaand, now our boy's headed to the sandbox."_  

Sure enough, the old man had motions toward the sandbox and the boy starts walking. Keith grabs his water bottle and hoists himself to his feet, meeting the eye of a lady who's been jogging around the park and sends her a wink. As expected she burns pink and keeps jogging. _Good, eyes away._ Keith starts a smooth jog in the direction of the nearest water fountain, tossing the last of his water when he passes a nearby tree. His new position puts him closer to the sandbox and allows him to see how Pidge pushes sand together into a mountain. The boy sits a respectable distance away from her.

_"Anytime now, Reaper."_

"Pidge," Keith says as he casually places his water bottle under the spout and digs his foot down on the pedal beneath. "Now."

In that instant, had one been looking at the sandbox, one would've seen a strange sort of flash zoom over the sand, as though light had suddenly bounced off the tiny grains of rock and dirt and infinitely smaller flecks of metal that Nyma had mixed in the sandbox earlier that morning. A blink, and the boy stops playing in the sand, remaining frozen.

The waiting game does not last long. Right on cue, a nearby fire hydrant explodes; water bursts into a full-fledged geyser at full velocity, startling many of the park's occupants and successfully distracting from the extraction. Keith feigns the shock and surprise just as easily, hurrying close to see the cause of the explosion and exchanging confused words with nearby park-goers who did the same. By the time the park security arrived to fence off the area, the sandbox was empty.

Keith lets out a soft sigh of relief that could pass as a simple huff of air to anyone paying attention.

_"We got him. Meet us later."_

"Where's my Doll?" Keith asked as he carried on his way.

" _I'm here."_ Pidge's voice traveled into his ear like a lover's whisper. The relief pulls and tugs the worried knot in his throat until it unravels the tension in his shoulders.  _"Nyma returned my clothes."_

_"And I got her a cute hat too, Reaper. You're welcome."_

Keith rolls his eyes and follows the trail until he's arrived at the back area of the park near the restrooms. Sure enough, he spots them, standing like the picture perfect image of a family waiting for him to return. Rolo gives him a nod from behind aviator glasses and a pleased smile. Nyma doesn't appear like she is capable of gruesome murder dressed in a sundress and sandals. Rather she looks more like a doting mother gripping on to the hand of their new charge. The boy makes no expression save a flat stare into the distance. He doesn't even acknowledge Keith as he approaches. Keith purses his lips.

“Pidge, did you complete the upgrade?" Keith asks. 

"She sure did," Rolo says for her, pressing his hands to his hips. "As soon as we're in public he'll appear no different than a regular kid. Your doll is pretty efficient, Reaper. You sure you don’t want to share where you got her?”

"Where is she?" Keith asks now that that bit of their conversation was over. There is a new edge to his tone. He's not a fan of Rolo speaking of Pidge as if she were some kind of machine.

"In the bathroom," Rolo says, smiling good-naturedly. "And yes, don't worry, you're going to be getting the rest of your payment soon. So you can halt the bitching before it happens."

Keith doesn't spare him another look before sauntering into the restroom. He stops short as soon as he sets foot past the dirty threshold, drawing a surprised gasp when he sees Pidge right in front of him, hand paused in reaching for the door. She's no longer dressed up like a pre-pubescent boy, and more like a teenage girl in jean shorts and a pretty jade green loose, sleeveless blouse. Sure enough, she has a wide-rimmed had on her head that covers her boyish haircut prettily.

"You okay?" he asks, his hands rising to test her jaw between his fingers. Her eyes met his, void of emotion. As usual.

"Yes," she says. "Nyma got me a hat."

"I can see that." He tugs her close, tossing a quick look around to make sure no one was privy to their reunion. Keith ducks his chin down to press his lips against her jaw for a quick moment. As with every payment, she tilts her chin up obediently to allow him access. He pulls away quicker than the other times and the action is so reminiscent to a kiss that he's momentarily taken aback by it. For a moment he’s not sure what to blame, force of habit or the worry he had earlier.

Pidge's expression makes no change, keeping the simplicity of emptiness on without a hint of disruption. Keith pushes any thoughts of intimacy away and begins his usual check-up over her person.

"You don't need to be worried," she says as his hands check hers. "I did as I was told."

"I wasn't," Keith says, finishing his scan with a nod. "You did well. Good job."

"Thank you," Pidge responds and he adjusts her clothes once more to make sure the bruises on her neck don't show. It was bad enough keeping a straight face when Nyma and Rolo first spotted them. Luckily, they react to cold glares like other people do, contractor or otherwise.

A moment later and they were out of the smelly public restroom and into a warm breeze. Rolo and Nyma were still with the doll at the entrance. Keith raises a brow at their obvious presence. He had half-expected to see the after-image of the dust from their quick escape. Instead, they both turn to him with curious expressions.

"Anything else?" he asks curtly.

"Just wanted to make sure if you're still open for business," Rolo shrugs. "We have another mission coming up soon. It'll pay well. You in?"

Keith meets his gaze past the reflective screen of Rolo's glasses. "You know my rates and how I work."

"Never hurts to just ask," Nyma responds for him and Keith glances over to see her watching him with a narrow gaze. "Also a simple answer now can suffice."

"I'll respond after I see the details," Keith replies, he gave them both a nod. "Until then, goodbye."

Rolo speaks up once Keith takes three steps the opposite direction. "It makes a lot of us nervous that we don't know who you work for, Reaper."

Keith stops short, fingers twitching at his side before he turns slowly to give Rolo a flat stare over his shoulder. Rolo pulls the aviators over his nose to rest on his scalp line, there's a hint of an edge in his gaze that isn't dulled by his easy-going posture. "No ties, not even a solid connection to where you came from? We just want to be sure you aren't some bogie from the Underground."

"I work alone," Keith says, eyes flashing dangerously. "If that's a problem, then we shouldn't discuss this here."

Nyma makes a move then, a quick step that would've meant nothing to anyone. It was more than enough for Keith's hand to reach for his belt just as her foot struck the ground. It would've been the end of their casual meeting and into something potentially more dangerous. It's swiftly stopped by Rolo, who lifts an arm to block Nyma from making any more sudden movements.

"Very well," he says, good-natured smile still in full force. "We'll back off. We got what we needed and everything is all hunky-dory. We’ll be in touch."

Keith nods stiffly and watches as they gave him strained nods and disappear down the trail. He's unaware his hand had been clenched tight at his side until he feels slender digits slide around his wrist.

"Let's go home," Pidge says, voice soft. He's distracted enough to throw a glance at her, surprised. Her eyes stare blankly in an obscure direction. Keith is about to pull his wrist from her grip until he notes a hint of strength behind her fingers. Now, this is surprising. Enough to tug his attention well enough away from their former team. Keith's fist falls slack, allowing Pidge's hand enough space to slip between the cracks.

"Hungry?" he asks as his form of a truce. She only needs to nod once before they keep walking in the opposite direction.

 

* * *

 

The crime scene is a  _nightmare._

 

As with most criminal cases, Allura expects the typical decorum that came with taping off the public from contaminating their only active source of evidence. This was, abysmally, not the case. When their team arrived at the scene, Allura had gawked in shock when she spotted all kinds of people crowding the area, walking over police tape as if it were a  _suggestion—_ likea party streamer—rather than a firm message to "keep the hell clear."

She was  _not_  happy, to paint it obviously.

 _Livid_  is the most likely choice she’ll describe it outside of her police report.

"Kawamura!" Allura growls the name through her teeth before tossing her half-filled cup of coffee into the nearest trashcan. She storms through the crowd forming around the area, elbowing past snooty reporters and loud-mouthed street brats trying to get a closer look. Anyone within the vicinity of her shout immediately turns to look at her and wilts away, parting with haste as Allura approaches the only officer in the area.

A tall, overly skinny man dressed in officer's uniform nearly begins hyperventilating as soon as Allura's blue eyes lock onto his. "D-Detective!"

"Get these people out of my crime scene  _NOW!_ " 

"Y-yes, ma'am, sorry ma'am!" Kawamura squeaks in fright, fumbling to grab his whistle. When he fails to grab it fast enough for her tastes, Allura snatches the lanyard and presses her lips to the smooth metal before blowing at top force.

People begin hurrying away, throwing glances as far away from the enraged white-haired lady in a teal business suit. To her relief, Seidou and Kurogane setting a perimeter, shouting at people and calling for backup. Shirogane moves quickly close by, pointing firmly away from the crime scene at a group of reporters attempting to get a statement.

Her mood turns a sharp turn into black territory when she spots a familiar reporter duck under the reinstated police tape and towards Shirogane. Allura drops the whistle and barks at Kawamura to get CSI down immediately before cutting over the pavement in swift steps before arriving at Shirogane's side.

"...We will  _not_ be giving a statement until the crime scene has been recovered," Shirogane is saying, voice steely and contained. “Now, for the last time, leave.”

"The people deserve to know what is going on in their neighborhood!" exclaims the woman with a sharp gaze. "What conspiracies is the government hiding now?"

”This crime scene is closed, Sua Akemi." Allura snaps coldly, "Leave now or I will personally remove you from this scene."

"Detective Allura," Sua sneered, crossing her arms. "Never thought we'd see you out in the sun again. Word is you’ve been promoted to senior! My congratulations are in order—or they would be if I didn’t know any better. Should we expect other women on the force to coast into positions of power based on their father’s influence or is that entirely your version of climbing the ranks?"

Allura’s already cold expression became frigid with disgust. She takes several steps closer until she was all but towering over the smirking reporter.

" _Get out of my crime scene before I arrest you for obstruction of justice."_

A hand at her shoulder stops Allura short of striking Sua down. Sua purses her lips and turns away, thankfully, without another word. Allura scoffs and turns to see Shirogane watching the reporters leave with a stony expression. Allura half expects him to admonish her temper and she steels herself in preparation to fight back.

"I never thought I'd see someone outright threaten the infamous Sua Akemi into submission," he says and his expression betrays a small quirk of amusement. Allura blinks and lets most of the tension in her shoulders melt. His hand falls from her shoulder and they turn away to walk back into the scene.

"That woman infuriates me," Allura says with a grunt. "All that stupid blogger does is spread conspiracy theories and lies."

"Her and her companion Blumfump," Shirogane says. Allura blinks up at him before huffing a laugh.

"Blum— _what?"_

"In-joke with the other guys in northern Tokyo," Shirogane says and steps to the side as they walk past a few officers. "That guy is probably the most eccentric person you'll ever meet. Bar none."

"Noted," Allura says and she's glad for the distraction. As soon as they reach the epicenter of the most chaos, she spots their junior detectives already walking around and taking pictures.

"This is one hell of a battle field," she hears Shirogane mutter. "His opponent must've been strong."

Allura tosses him a quick glance before moving forward. It isn't long before the CSI team returns, with looks of surprise and looking abashed under Allura’s gaze. Allura fights back the urge to bark at them for their idiocy but her eyes are too focused on the sight of battle before her. She's pleased to hear Shirogane give a few of them an earful. Once they are taken care of, Allura walks the grounds and observes the tracks and broken pavement with a critical gaze.

"Please tell me this is not a normal occurrence," Shirogane says when he joins her again. "I know things down here are bad but I didn't think it was this bad."

"It isn't," Allura says as she observes an irregularity. "We've never lost control over a scene like this."

Shirogane raises his brows and when she meets his gaze it's almost electric how immediately she senses his train of thought going. "You don't think...?"

"It's too soon to tell," she says quickly. "But it does raise a few red flags if we're facing  _them_ this soon. Besides, I've never heard of the Underground becoming involved in something like a petty squabble between two Contractors."

"You call this petty?" Shirogane asks, incredulous, waving an arm around to gesture at the destroyed area.

"Well...none of this happened near any public property like a transportation hub, nor anywhere near a government building," Allura says as she approaches a particular marking on a beam. "This is just a regular construction site. This would've been just another apartment complex. Far enough from the usual M.O of an Underground issue that I have no reason to believe it was over anything related."

"I doubt this was a simple matter of territory," Shirogane says, shaking his head. "The man killed was a contractor, not just a petty drug dealer. There's more to it than that."

"Alright then tell me," Allura turns to face him and her gaze was sharp. "You need to share all you know of the Red Reaper."

"I already—"

"Than what's already in the transcripts and files," Allura presses latex-gloved hands to her hips. "I'm tempted to say that you know the Reaper more than you let on."

Shirogane's expression darkens a fraction and he looks away. He walks away from her a moment later, to Allura’s chagrin. She’s tempted to follow him and demand an explanation but something about his silence keeps her from doing so. Instead, she watches him closely, notes how he takes in the charred marks on concrete and ruined metal scaffolding.

He’s hiding something, this much was clear to her, but whatever it was, Allura couldn’t shake the feeling that it was personal.

Shirogane looks up and at this angle, Allura can see the scar over cheek and nose. A tug of intuition dares her to consider the mark anew, but she turns away as soon as she feels him blink in her direction.

Intuition will have to wait until she can get him to talk to her alone.


End file.
